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Austria had never been much of a soldier. When it came to holding a sword, he was almost entirely useless. More to the point, he simply did not want to fight. He became sick at the sight of blood and bathed frequently to disguise the smell of horses and sweat after a long campaign. He was more at home in his finery, in the quiet and clean halls of a palace.
In many ways, the Hapsburg Dynasty was the high-point of Austria’s life. Working within the Holy Roman Empire as his tutor, evading his various cousins and neighbors as they fought for power – Austria managed servants and arranged alliances, dined with rival princes and lords, mediated treaties and trade. It was a delicate, constant composition and it was his element. He was only rarely called to pick up his own sword; his armor sat in a corner and gathered dust while the keys of his piano gleamed like pearls.
Austria, the master of conducting diplomacy and the complex handling of politics, archduke of an empire – Austria had no idea what to do about Spain.
(1519 C.E.)
“So, I hear you’ve been married before,” said Spain with interest. “What’s that like?”
Austria wondered if it were possible to pretend like the carriage was rattling too loudly to hear the question. He glanced out at the low green hills, the sparse trees already losing their blossoms as spring waned to summer. In the end, he deemed it impolite to leave it unanswered.
“It depends entirely on the other person,” said Austria, not looking at him.
“Mm, I see. Who do you think was the hardest?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Which person was your least favorite?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
He looked over just in time to see Spain smiling widely. “Well, I just figured that if we’re going to do this, we might as well do it properly. I want to get to know you a little, is that so bad?”
Austria was momentarily caught off-guard. His marriages were largely political. It was not always an easy life but it was better than a soldier’s life. He did not like to think about a time when it had been otherwise.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Austria, after a moment.
“Oh, don’t be like that! Tell me who it was.”
“What?”
Spain’s expression was painfully earnest. “Tell me who it was that broke your heart.”
If Austria had been drinking something, he surely would have choked. As it was, he could not stop an angry red flush from crawling up his neck. He tugged lightly on his collar, hoping that it would not reach his face.
“My heart is perfectly fine, thank you very much.”
“Then why are you so unhappy with the idea of getting married? Tell me. Is it me? But we barely know each other!”
That, Austria felt, was precisely the point.
In his earliest memories, Spain was ‘Castille,’ a vaguely interesting but thoroughly unappealing territory. Ruled by foreigners with a foreign faith – a center for art and science, to be sure, but not a suitable partner for someone like Austria. They knew each other through a network of acquaintances: this or that prince who visited Seville once, a friend of a friend who studied in Toledo. People spoke of him vaguely. “Oh, yes, that one. He’s a decent man, I suppose.”
Austria’s rise to power was calculated. Spain’s was… unexpected.
First, he threw out the invaders. Then, the Kingdom of Aragon folded and Castille inherited the leftover territory. The newly christened Spain hired an Italian madman to reach the east by sailing west – and it worked. Now, Spain was an empire at the height of the world – and the two of them were married. And even Austria, who had spent much of his adolescence mastering the nuances of royal politics, was a bit fuzzy on the details of how it happened.
He looked at the band on his finger. Spain gave it to him as a gift; he wore a matched one. Twin golden rings. It felt strangely significant but Austria would’ve gladly died before admitting that out loud.
“I find that nothing is accomplished from focusing on the past,” said Austria. “Besides, it’s not as if we’ll be living together in Vienna forever. We do have our empires to run, after all.”
“Don’t be like that,” said Spain again, pleadingly now. “You can’t mean to avoid me like I was – like all of this truly means nothing to you. It doesn’t, does it?”
Against his will, Austria felt a stabbing of guilt. The flush on his neck had now reached his ears.
“Very well,” he said, as coolly as he could manage. “What do you want to know?”
But Spain’s expression did not relax. “So… what kind of person appeals to you?”
It took every ounce of Austria’s considerable willpower to keep the blush from spreading to his cheeks.
“That’s a little personal.”
“We are married,” Spain pointed out.
“And I certainly hope you’re not getting your hopes up about that.”
“Have a heart!”
It was melodramatic but to Austria’s horror, Spain appeared genuinely hurt by his unwillingness to open up for conversation. He let out a noise between a groan and a huff of impatience.
“Fine. Let me think.”
When pressed, Austria recalled fighting side by side with Prussia, admiring the valiant and beautiful Hungary. He could recall having his bruises and cuts patched up by the boy who would grow to become Switzerland. He did not like to be pressed; these memories were tinged with humiliation. For so long, his own relations, his neighbors, his own dukes and knights – they were all so baffled by him. He was a pale and awkward youth, scrawny. Weak. He had soft, delicate hands with long fingers – perfect for rolling over the keys of a piano or balancing a violin. But poetry and music were the pursuits of lesser men, second sons and the sons of men who were desperate to prove that their name was worth something. A true man was a warrior – a knight.
Austria had never been the right type of person. They’d all laughed at him. All his early memories were tainted with that humiliation. It was nearly unbearable. Until, suddenly, he’d grown taller and handsomer. Until, suddenly, he became wealthy and developed dress sense. Until, suddenly, they all needed him.
Sometimes, he was married and sometimes, he wasn’t. Sometimes, people married him for his money or his status. Sometimes, Austria was in love and sometimes he wasn’t.
“I like strong people,” he admitted. “I’ve never been -ah - physically impressive. So I suppose I’ve come to admire it in others. But I don’t like armor – so bulky and crude. It distracts from the, er, finer points. The face and the arms, especially.”
Spain sat back in his seat, rubbing a hand over the muscle corded in his arm. Austria, lost in thought, did not notice. He continued:
“I like green eyes as well. I cant explain that, but… Well.”
A weight seemed to go off Spain’s shoulders.
“And I like people who can be firm in their convictions. I suppose that would mean people with essentially earnest personalities,” Austria finished, slowly coming back to Earth.
He looked up and saw Spain smiling at him from across the carriage.
“Two out of three’s not so bad, eh?” he said.
There was nothing Austria could have done to stop the blushing now.